"Last night you went to sleep."
"Oh, last night!" Charles with a wave of his towel sent last night into the limbo of things best forgotten.
"Well, tell me. What have you been doing? To-day, for instance."
"I had two interviews this morning." Charles paused. "With two different publishers' representatives. They are keen about this new book on tests. Ready to make me an offer right now, without even seeing an outline. Pretty good, eh?"
"Fine! That's proof of your standing, isn't it?"
"Partly. Partly just the current fad for anything psychological, and then the clinic behind the book is a factor."
"And you have the book—is it half done?"
"It's getting along." Charles had drawn in his lower lip and was chewing it thoughtfully. "The clinic is furnishing material. I've been wondering. Of course Miss Partridge did the organizing there, and she's done most of the tabulating of results. She suggested that we collaborate on a book. What would you think of such a scheme?"
"I'd think," cried Catherine in a flash of irritation, "that it was pure silk for Miss Partridge! That clinic was your scheme, not hers, and——"
"I haven't committed myself." Charles busied himself with a pile of dishes on the shelf, rearranging them critically. His expansiveness contracted visibly. "You needn't be so sure I'd agree with her. I might give her a chapter to do."